Withdrawal From Myself
by Konsui's Little Brother
Summary: It was a hard thing for Canada to explain, especially to someone like Russia. And it was a hard thing for Russia to be interested in Canada when he'd never seen the boy before that day. But there's something wrong with Canada and its caught his attention.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: It figures that I fall in love with the one pairing not even hinted at in the entire series. I'm not quite sure why this keeps happening to me! But, I'm in love for the pairing so I've got to write about it. Hope you all enjoy it!

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><p>"I think it's a form of withdrawal." Canada's eyes, slightly glazed over violet orbs, gazed down at his shaking hands. It was odd that today of all day was when the Russian noticed because they really weren't trembling as violently as they normally did. Of course, it was odd that the larger Nation had noticed the hands shaking at all. Or himself for that matter, seeing as no one else in the World Meeting was paying the slightest bit of attention to him.<p>

That was how Canada expected the entirety of the meeting to go, as well. With no one calling on him for an opinion, or asking him how his country was doing, or anything of the sort. With the exception, perhaps, of his Papa. France generally tended to remember him, even if he didn't always _see_ him. Then, all of a sudden, Russia had sat down in the perpetually empty seat beside him.

Now, the Russian man hadn't looked any different from what he normally did to Canada. He still had an eerily pleasent smile on his face, one that didn't quite match up with the hardness of his eyes, and hadn't given him even a second-look.

All was as it should be.

Canada had let himself slip into the quiet void that came with few to no other Nation's seeing him. Obviously, he was still paying attention to what was being said on the off chance that something important would be hidden inside of the irritating rambles but he wasn't all _there_ that day. Or maybe the issue was that he was _more_ there than he normally was.

Almost an hour and a half into the meeting, the thin Nation could feel eyes boring into the back of his head. Unused to the feeling, because everyone was always looking _through_ him and not _at_ him, he could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand up. Canada waited a few moments, shoulders tensed up, waiting for the eyes to just go back to looking at the currently speaking Poland, but they didn't. They just kept staring at him. And staring. And staring.

With a gulp, Canada turned slightly in his seat so that he could see the larger man sit next to him. Only to find that, yes, Russia was in fact staring at him. And it wasn't even one of those questioning stares, that type that said 'I-see-you-but-I-don't-know-you' that was so common on the other Nations faces when they realized that Canada was actually in the room with them.

And then he'd questioned his hands.

Why the Russian had questioned them, Canada wasn't certain. He didn't know why he'd just answered him either. Especially not with _that_ answer. Sure, it was what he actually thought was wrong with him but that had never been anything he'd shared with anyone else before. Not even his dear Papa had gotten the truth when he questioned Canada; just a lie that had been spun on the spot.

There was silence after he spoke and Canada was sure that Russia had already forgotten about him. Sadly, he couldn't even say that it was a record. There were plenty of other Nations that had forgotten about him in mid-sentence, Turkey and Spain being the top two on his list. But Russia's iced blue eyes were still staring at him with that odd look on his face, the one that Canada couldn't quite recognize, so maybe...Maybe he hadn't?

"Withdrawal, da? From what?" Russia's smile didn't falter even when the presumably younger Nation jerked. Funny. One wouldn't expect him to be so surprised seeing as they were in the middle of a conversation. Perhaps it was a subject that Canada wasn't particularly fond of continuing? That thought just made him all the more interested in the mousy looking boy though. The fact that he had just noticed him that day also caught his attention.

Canada clenched his left hand into fist for a few moments, watching how they trembles increased when he used the muscles in his hand, before straightening out to match his right one. They were actually rather mild trembles compared to what he was used to but, if one bothered to look, they were still easy to spot. And for some reason he didn't understand, the voice in the back of his head (which always managed to sound like England) didn't protest against him explaining his thoughts.

"I...don't know. Maybe..." Canada's voice, always quiet and soft, wavered for a moment. The God's honest truth was that he wasn't completely sure about what caused it. He had his theories, which were most likely correct seeing as it was _his_ body, but they'd never been proven. "...From myself?"

Beside him, Russia tensed. Withdrawal from himself? The smile slid off his face, just slightly, and he tilted his head at the other Nation. Canada had lowered his hands back down into his lap, completely ignoring the fact that they had suddenly started to shake harder, and turned his attention back to the conference going on around him. As though what he had just said had no real consequence. Obviously, Russia wasn't about to just let it go at that though. In fact, the fact that it was the only information he'd been giving sent a prick of annoyance through him. "Is that so, da? And, tell me, what does that mean?"

Canada froze. Honestly, he wasn't sure how to explain what he meant to the other Nation. Half of the time, it was difficult for him to explain it to himself. "Well..." He paused, violet eyes once more setteling on the man beside him. "I suppose that it means I'm loosing myself. Sort of lik-"

The Nation was suddenly cut off by Germany, who had stood up at the other end of the table, announcing that it was time for a lunch break. Evidently, when they got back they would be starting some sort of vote (that had been agreed upon by everyone but Canada) but until then they would have an hour or so on their own.

A small, unheard sigh left his throat as Russia stood up, without a word or another glance towards him, and left the room with everyone else.

Canada chose to wait where he was.

The next World Meeting didn't take place for another six months. This time it took place at a hotel in Southern Italy, Romano being their ungracious host. And, as it always went, Canada was left to try and book his own room before the meeting started. That was how it always went, with no one remembering that _he_ needed a room too. Even his Papa forgot to book somewhere for him to sleep, though Canada couldn't bring himself to blame the French Nation.

Something was different this time, though. When he had gone up to the counter to give out his credentials so he could get a free-room, one of the perks of being a Nation, his mind had frazzled out.

Only that wasn't exactly the most accurate description.

His mind had been covered by a sort of haze since he woke up that morning. It wasn't an unusual feeling, Canada had felt it often enough in the past few centuries, but it certaintly wasn't a pleasent one. It was like a fog had placed itself over certain parts of his brain, making all of his movements slow and his thought-process sluggish. Only, there were also time where his brain felt like it was going at a thousand miles per hour, zooming and zipping around in his head. It was starting to give him a headahce.

The fact that his hands were positivly shaking certaintly didn't help matters. Not just slight trembling like at the last World Meeting. No, they looked like they were on the verge of jumping off his wrists; awful spasm and shakes that made everything difficult. The slight film of sweat that had dried on his palms had gotten to be nuisence too.

"Sir?" Canada jumped slightly at the impatient voice. Who was speaking to him? Certaintly not Kumajirou, the polar bear would never address him as such. Violet eyes widened and an embarressed flush laced his features when he realized that the voice had come from the woman standing behind the counter. Waiting for an answer of sort. Trying to check him into a room.

"Desole'e! W-would you mind repeating the question?" That should have been embarressing. Really. It should have mortified that Canadian, making someone repeat themselves because he hadn't been paying enough attention. But it didn't. It didn't really make him feel much of anything.

"I asked what name you want your room to be placed under?" There was a hint of irritation in the brunnette's voice this time around.

Oh. She just wanted his name. But...what _was_ his name? His mind wouldn't supply an answer. Which probably should have bothered him. It didn't though. The fog around his brain wouldn't allow any sort of irritation to be felt at something like that, nor would it allow any sort of an answer to float to the surface.

What was his name? Several long moments passed before any semblance of a name popped into being. "Matthieu. Matthieu Williams." His Papa had named him, he thought once the words had left his mouth. His French Papa. That made him French too, didn't it? No, the voice in his head (the one that sounded just like England) told him. He wasn't French. Not anymore. Not for a long time.

"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't accept that name." This time the woman didn't even try to hide her irritation. "I need the name of the country you represent if I'm going to let you enter the World Meeting."

Of course. That was what they always booked it under. But...He didn't actually remember what country he was representing. What...Country...The sudden realization sent a jolt of panic through his chest.

That wasn't good! He had to remember what country he was! He was a Nation! He shouldn't have forgotten in the first place! But he just couldn't remember where he was. There was English in him, and French, and even some American. Something off far in the deepest depths of his memories, telling him think further back, but he knew that wasn't the right answer either.

"I'm...I'm..." Canada could feel his mouth dry out, throat tightening painfully. The haze over his mind hadn't lifted; making it hard for him to even panic properly. The feeling that this had happened before was just under the surface.

"Mattvey?" Russia let one eyebrow lift slightly, a hint of amusement behind the plastered on smile. "What are you doing still in the lobby? You will be late, da?" The amusement flickered away when the other Nation turned to look at him and he noticed that the normally pale boy's skin had turned a sickly shade of white; pasty looking, sweat marring his forehead, and hands shaking violently. He looked unsteady, as well.

"R-russia!" It took a moment for the words to sink into his fog-ladden mind. "O-oh, oui, I'm just trying to get checked in." Canada's throat suddenly unlocked itself, at the sight of someone that clearly recognized him, and slowly his eyes drifted over to the larger Nation. "I-it seems that my room wasn't bought with the o-others."

"Yes, and if you want to get checked in too _sir_ then I'm going to need your country name." The woman behind the counter snapped. Her well-manicured nails made a loud clacking noise on the marble counter-top. "So please, Mr. Williams, what country are you representing?"

"O-oh, I'm...I'm..." Again, names escaped him. Only, he had to say something this time now that Russia was here. He couldn't very well tell the other Nation that he had woken up that morning with no idea who he was.

Russia blinked. "Mattvey? You are alright, da?" There was something very off about the small, trembling Nation. Something that sparked a vague memory, one that really shouldn't have been vague at all, of the last time he spoke to the timid man. He just couldn't quite work out the fine details of it.

"I'm...I'm..." Canada suddenly wished that he had brought Kumajirou along with him. The furry little bear wouldn't have told him his name, he never did, but it would have been nice to have the comfort of holding him. The soft fuzz always made him feel better.

"Canada? What is the ma-"

"Thats it!" And suddenly the fog was gone from his mind, just like that , and Canada could remember _exactly_ who he was. "I'm Canada! Place me down under Canada!" He was the second largest country in the world. He was the brother of America. He was the son of France. He was many things, many people and many nationalities, but above all, he was Canada. And even the odd look he was getting from both Russia and the clerk couldn't dampen the large smile on his face.

A large, gloved hand was suddenly clamping down on his shoulder, with much more force than necisary. Again, Canada didn't mind. Instead he turned around and gave the normally terrifing Nation a grateful smile. "Thank you, Russia, thank you very much! Merci Beaucoup!"

"Mattvey." Russia tilted his head slightly, eyes scrunching up as he looked down at the other Nation. "Mattvey, you have some things to explain, da? Why do you not tell me what is going on? It will be good for you, da?"

Oh. Wait. Suddenly, Canada let himself shrink back away from Russia. Of course. Now he had to try and explain that, didn't he? How...Awful. "Well...Y-you see...I...I sometimes f-forget myself. R-really, I f-forget _where_ I am. Like...What I r-represent. I'm fine now though." Not really. He wasn't fine, but he would live.

"Then we should get to the meeting, should we not? I do not want to have to make someone give me their seat because they accidentally took mine." Pleasent smile still in place, despite the horrible black aura that was suddenly surrounding him, Russia turned and started to steer Canada towards the elevator.

And, once the meeting was over, or maybe even just when it came time for lunch, he would get his Mattvey to explain in more detail what had just occured.

Russia was not just going to let his go.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Sorry about it being shorter than the first chapter but that's how the plots making my writing unfold. Some long chapters, some short chapters, some hideously difficult to write chapters...I really hate those last ones. Alas, I will slosh my way through them for my readers. And for XKoon, who is seriously the driving force behind this story. She doesn't actually have an account on this site, nor does she write, but she is almost always my muse. Enough of my ramblings though, enjoy the story!

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><p>Sliding into his designated seat, one right inbetween Germany and Spain, Canada let out a small, unnoticed sigh. Germany twitched slighty, eyes flickering to the no longer vacant chair, and for a moment the spectacled Nation thought that he'd seen him. At least, until the blond went back to talking with the Austrian Nation beside him. That brought another sigh from the Canadian but he suppossed he shouldn't have been surprised; he didn't think that the German man had ever noticed him before.<p>

Instead, Canada let his gaze drift across the room to see if anyone had noticed him coming in. Romano, who was sitting on the other side of Spain, had cast a scowl in his general direction but no one else had given him any acknowledgment. Not that he'd been expecting much. Even Russia had gone back to not seeing him.

The older man had for a while, even guided Canada up the stairs with a hand latched rather roughly on his shoulder, but the minute the door opened his invisiblness had evidently taken hold. Russia had lumbered away over to an empty chair beside China, not even a second-look towards the man he'd been steering moments ago.

At the time, still dizzy from the headrush of having, not just his Nation name, but also his _human_ name remembered; or maybe he was dizzy from the massive migraine that he'd had for the majority of that day. Either way, it had been on unsteady feet that the Canadian Nation made his way over to his seat. Alone. Just like always. And, just like always, the meeting had started up without a single question directed towards him.

Not that it was that big of a deal anymore. Really, Canada had almost gotten used to being forgotten all the time. There were times when it still stung, and he knew there always would be, but for the most part he was just numb to it all now. Years of putting up with it had given him an almost perfect intolerance to the whole deal.

Beside him, Germany cleared his throat. The pale-haired man pushed his chair back slightly and stood up, eyes shifting to Romano. It _was_ the Italian Nation's home that the meeting was being held at so, really, he should be the first one to speak. However Romano seemed rather distracted, busy in an intense insult-hurling match with Prussia, so he took it upon himself to start the meeting. As per usual.

"Alright. Welcome everyone to the World Meeting. Despite the fact that we are based in Romano's house this time, I will be starting the meeting off." Smoothing the front of his shirt down, Germany started the walk up to the front of the table. "I think that we should start our discussions with the current economical situation in Hong Kong. Due to the large series of storms that have swept through several months ago-"

Canada leaned back in his chair, eyes slipping shut as he let the words drift over him. Now that Germany had gotten onto a weather-related subject, they wouldn't get onto anything else anytime soon. Due to the fact that weather-crisis' affected the Nations so badly, they were generally a topic that garnered a lot of concern. This one, however, really didn't need any attention in Canada's opinion. Not that anyone actually wanted his opinion. They would rather just waste their time talking about a situation that was being so blown out of proportion it wasn't even funny.

The storms, a series of several small tornados, hadn't actually done much damage to the Asian Nation. A bunch of torn up trees, one or two buildings taken down, but other than that the biggest piece of damage was a bus that had slammed into an apartment building. There wasn't even a death-toll of twenty! And, while that would always be a good thing, it meant that a boring discussion was in store for him.

The northern Nation ran one hand through his hair. It was all nasty now, dried and sort of crusty around the bangs, from when he had broken into a cold sweat earlier. "Ugh..." All of the hair was stuck to his forehead and, if anyone bothered to look, he was sure it must have been unattractive. Maybe even obvious that he wasn't feeling quite up to par that day.

It was disgusting and he desperatly needed a shower.

Prying his eyes open, Canada let his gaze drift around the room. It wasn't like he needed to pay much attention to anything, if something big went on he could catch up on it later, but he didn't want to fall asleep sitting there. It just wasn't acceptable for a Nation to sleep in the middle of World Meetings; despite the fact that Greece was almost always found might have been different if he had someone that was willing to wake him up, on the off-chance, he was ever called upon.

But he didn't and he tried not to dwell on it much. Nothing he could do to change it, after all.

x0x0x0x

_437. 438. 439._ There it was. Room 440. the last door on the left side of the hallway, almost three floors apart from the other Nation's rooms. Normally, they would all be on the same floor. The problem was, since he hadn't booked his room until that morning when he showed up, they hadn't had any rooms left on the seventh floor. So he'd been thrown on the fourth floor, far away from everyone else.

Really, it wasn't that big of a problem for him. Since he didn't spend much time with the other Nations, he didn't have to worry about them complaining about the long trip to his room. It was just that it _was_ a long trip. The conference room was on the top floor, in the room right inbetween everyone elses sleeping quarters.

Canada used one finger to slide his glasses further up his nose, the other hand rooting around in his sweatshirt's pocket for the room key. The thin metal frames resting on his nose had gotten bent a few days ago, when he was just a little too slow in making Kumajiro's breakfast, so they weren't staying where they were supposed to. He planned on getting them fixed right after the meeting ended.

Pulling the small polished key from his pocket, Canada slipped it into the lock and waited for the 'click' that signaled the doors unlockment. It was drowned out, however, by a loud voice calling out the name of his brother. A voice with a heavy southern accent, the type that most people picked up by spending an extended time below North America.

"AMERRRICAAAA! I FOUND YOU!"

The shout was followed by a burst of pain in his jaw, the horrid feeling of skin swelling and bruising accompanying it. The force of the blow sent the pale Northern Nation stumbling into his door with a loud thump; glasses sliding down the bridge of his nose and threatening to clatter off and on to the floor. His hand flew up to the rapidly reddening part of his face, fingers gently probing at the sore skin there.

"I told you that you couldn't hide from me, you pig!" Cuba shouted. He'd been looking for the American Nation since the meeting had ended and America had high-tailed it out of there, muttering some excuse about meeting with Korea for hamburgers. It had to be fate that he'd found him on the way up to his own room!

Another fisted hand met with the back of Canada's head and he let out a yelp. Both arms flew up to try and protect his face. Again the force of the hit sent him backwards, head and knuckles smacking into the wood behind him. "C-cuba, stop! I'm n-not America! R-really! I'm-"

"You can't fool me, America! I'm not dumbe! I can tell who you are!" With an angry sort of rumble, Cuba fisted his hands into the other Nation's shirt and hoisted him towards him. Due to the massive difference in height the Northern Nation's feet were left dangling several inches off the ground. Which was odd, seeing as Cuba clearly remembered the American being the same height as him...

"C-canada! I'm Canada, not America!" Glasses tumbling off his face and onto the floor, which created the faint tinkling of glass breaking, Canada clenched his eyes shut. The darker skinned Nation only listened to him half of the time so it wouldn't be that big of a surprise if he was hit again. Luckily, though, it seemed as though Cuba recognized him because he suddenly found himself in an ungraceful heap on the ground.

"...Canada? Why didn't you tell me you weren't America sooner?" Cuba frowned, arms crossing in front of his chest. "Geez, sorry 'bout hitting you but really, if you'd said something sooner." Letting himself trail off, the Cuban shrugged before turning and starting down the hallway again.

Giving a little sigh, Canada let his hand drop from his cheek, swollen and painful to the touch, to the broken pair of glasses by his knees. The lenses had popped out of them and shattered, creating a splendid mess of glass on the tiled floor, and the dark blue lenses had twisted. Even if they still had their lenses in them, there was no way that they would ever stay in place now.

It looked like he'd have to go to the repair shop sooner than he'd planned; not that anyone would notice his absense at the next days meeting. They never did.

With that thought in mind Canada scooped up the twisted metal and the key that had fallen from his hand, finished unlocking the door, and slipped inside.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Look! Another update! So soon! This is what happens when I take a nose-dive off a horse and seriously mess my face up! Quick updates. Bet you all wish I fell off more often, huh?

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><p>As always, walking into the warmth that was the inside of his house was a relief to the Russian Nation. The house itself was no where near as extravagant as some of the other Nation's buildings, such as America's sprawling three acres and Japan's multi-story masterpiece, but compared to some of the other buildings in Russia it was a mansion. The fact that it had recently become completely heated only added to his joy of owning the building.<p>

Tapping his boots against the hard wood flooring to clear off the snow and ice that had caked on during his trek home from the airport, Russia slowly started to make his way down the hall that would lead to his kitchen. There used to be a time when he would have come home to the smell of an already cooked dinner, one that would be served to him in his study as he dealt with whatever paper work had been sent to him, and the comforting feeling of other Nations milling about his abode; but that time had long since passed. A shame really, Lithuania always made the best onion soup.

Of course, all three of the Baltic Nations had moved on and were currently living in their own houses elsewhere. Occasionally, Lithuania would stop by and spend a few days but other than that Russia was left to live on his own. That was probably caused by the fact that America had thoroughly convinced most Nations he was little more than a psychopathic killer. Highly offensive towards a regular person, or Nation as the case was, but towards someone that actually had history of mental illnesses it was an even worse accusation.

Walking into the empty kitchen, decorated in the same drab greys and dull browns as the rest of his house, Russia pulled his coat tighter against him. Even with the heat on, the air had a heavy chill to it; one that never went away no matter what setting the heater had been placed on. A side-effect of living in Russia.

"It is good thing that I made dinner before I left for the meeting. It would be very tiring to cook something now, especially since I still have work to do tonight." Another side-effect of living in Russia, especially now that he was the only one occupying his home, was the fact that he often found himself speaking his thoughts aloud. It was a good way to break the dreadful silences that seemed to settle over his home.

Small smile on his face, Russia pulled open his fridge and grabbed the silver cerran wrapped tray he had sitting on the top shelf. It was by no means a fancy dinner. A small bowl of boiled potato okrashka and a large yeast roll. The man paused for a moment, glancing over his scantily stocked fridge, before pulling out a bottle of vodka to go with his meal.

Russia pushed the door to the fridge shut with his knee before turning and leaving the kitchen. His study was in the same hallway as his kitchen, only two doors down and on the oppisite wall from the kitchen. The room wasn't as big as most Nations studies were made but it was large enough for Russia's needs.

Three of the four walls were lined with bookshelves, each filled to it's fullest capacity. They were mostly books on the history of his country, thick leather bound tomes that had not been touched in many years, but every few spaces a thin, brightly colored book had been slipped in; all gifts from China and all of them free of dust.

In the middle of the room was a large oak desk, in front of a high backed chair with deep red cushions. As expected, several piles of paperwork had been left for him on top of it. Most likely they weren't anything horribly important. His Boss tended to contact him at meetings if something had to be tended to right away, as did the boss of every Nation.

Setting the tray down in an empty spot on the desk and himself down in the chair, Russia popped the top off of his bottle. Taking a swig of the burning, heat inducing alchohol, he grabbed the first piece of paper on the stack. "Hmm...I am to look over the new recruits for our hockey team? But it is still so early in the year..."

Scooping a spoonful of Okrashka into his mouth, briefly letting the sour but salty taste wash over him, Russia flipped through the other papers he'd been given. Really, there wasn't anything important in them. Just a bunch of quick, easy to complete tasks. Signature there, mark agreement here, and they were done. Much easier than his paperwork normally was.

And then Russia picked up a piece of paper demanding that he write up a detailed summary of the events and conversation that took place at the World Meeting.

The smile on his face slowly slid off, leaving behind an irritated sort of frown. He was supposed to write a report on almost nothing but America's nonsensical ramblings? That was going to be a very irritating report. He was such a silly Nation, after all. America was always going on about him being a 'commie' and 'the incarnation of evil'. In fact, Russia had attended several meetings in America's home country where the sole topic of the weekend was discussing whether or not Russia was going to send out 'commie-ninjas' to invade the other countries.

A shame that everyone was going to become one with Mother Russia. It meant that he would have to deal with the dirty-blond all the time.

The thought of the younger Nation, and of the meeting that he had just come from, started up a soft nagging in the far corners of his mind. It was a horrible feeling, like there was something important he should be doing right then. And it seemed to have something to do with America...

Or America's near identical brother.

Jerking out of his seat, desk wobbling and sending papers everywhere, Russia turned high-tailed it out of his study; not bothering to stop and his dinner back in the fridge before he threw himself back out into the harsh winter weather.

He couldn't believe that he had forgotten about talking with Canada after the meeting!

-x-x-x-x-

"Mattvey?" Russia called out pleasantly, peering around a corner as he did so. The other Northern Nation's house was no where near as large as his half-brothers, or either of his supposed 'fathers' sprawling mansions, but it was a decent size. Two or three floors and a fairly wide bottom floor; pleasant decor scattering each room.

Russia thought it fit Canada quite well.

At least, he would if the expanse of rooms wasn't keeping him from finding the strawberry-blond. The possibility that Canada wasn't actually home was there, of course, but most of the lights were on and Russia was sure that he could hear a tv playing further in the house so he had just 'let' himself in. The door wasn't locked anyways, a mistake that he would have to address sometime during their discussion. It wasn't good to leave the front door open, after all, anyone could walk in; mass-murders and thieves included. It really was a bad habit.

Stepping around the corner and into another hallway, this one had it's pale blue walls adorned with pictures of what looked to be several different Canadian hockey teams, Russia called out Canada's name again. "Mattvey? I know that you are home so come out now please."

Again, he was given no response.

The pleasant smile on his face didn't falter though when he realized that the hall he was walking through led straight into the living room. Just as he'd thought, the tv (a standard sized one, not too big nor too small like most Nation's) was on and playing a news story about a decision the Canadian government had made regarding one of the National Parks in Ontario.

"Ah, Mattvey, don't you know that it is rude to ignore a guest in favor of a television program? It gives off the appearence that you have as little manners as the swine that calls himself your brother." Placing one hand on the back of the couch, big enough for three and appohlstered in a very nice cream color, Russia tilted his head down and to the side so he could look at the smaller Nation.

Except that the couch was empty.

Several pillows, all of them brilliant reds and warm oranges, were stacked in an inviting manner on either end, just enough that you could sink into them comfortably without feeling like you were drowning. A light blue and dark red quilted blanket was flung over the back of the couch, several patchwork petals betraying the fact that the darker of the two colors was actually a flower of sorts taking up the center of the blanket.

And in the very middle of the couch was a large splatter of crimson; already starting to crust over at the edges and turn a rusty shade of orange. Smaller drops of the already drying liqued, partially soaked into the fabric, were scattered in other spots of the cushion and from where Russia was standing, he could just make out the hint of blood on the floor as well.

The sight was troubling, to say the least, and Russia could feel the edges of his smile twitch down; not quite a frown but certaintly not a smile anymore. More like a grimace, really.

"Mattvey?" Russia called out again, icy blue eyes swiftly scanning the still empty room. One of his still very gloved hands twitched, and he absently found himself wandering why he had left his pipe at his house. Sure, he had his knife with him, along with a small caliber handgun strapped to one side of his waist, but his pipe was his preferred weapon of choice. Easy to carry, easy to use, but it still left a nasty impact; and Russia would be the first to admit that the sight it left behind was generally a dazzling one.

The sight in front of him, however, was not. Especially not when his eyes swept over the room for a second time and landed on what was unmistakably a bloody handprint on the wall adjacent to the couch; the mark was smeared and still slightly damp looking, as though the person it belonged to had thrown their hand out to steady themselves as they were falling.

Obviously, it belonged to the same Canuck who's house Russia was currently standing in.

Large, quick strides brought him around the couch and to the print on the wall, one gloved hand coming up to hover above the print. The hand was half the size as his own. Oddly enough, that thought sent a strange twist throughout his stomach.

Eyes scanning the wall, which curved to lead down a hallway he had not yet explored, Russia could spot several more scarlet smears on the otherwise pristine white walls; some were clearly handprints while others were nothing more than squiggled smears. Letting his hand fall back to his side with another twitch, Russia followed the unappealing trail.

The stains, getting less and less dry the further down he went in the hallway, eventually led him to the open door of a bathroom. The soothing effect that the light blues and greens of the room created was effectively ruined by the fact that Canada was sitting on the seat of the toilet, one hand clamping down on his nose and his head hanging forward slightly. There was blood trickling down his hand, following the curve of his wrist and trailing down his arm, only to drip from his elbow and onto the rust stained rug beneath his feet.

"Mattvey? What has happened here to create such a big mess?" Placing one large hand on the other lad's shoulder, shaking slightly and feeling far smaller than one Canada's size should be, Russia felt his eyes narrow and his lips twitch up into a smile. "You know that I would not mind killing whoever has hurt you, da?" He asked, voice remaining perfectly pleasant.

Letting out a decidedly high-pitched screech, Canada thrust himself off the side of the toilet and away from the offending hand. The blood-crusted hand that had been grasping his nose flew down to clutch at his chest instead and he cast Russia a scandalized look. "I-Ivan? Wh-what are you doing here?" He squeaked out, completely bypassing both the question and the off-hand threat that the larger Nation had given him.

Blinking, Russia tilted his head to the side. For a brief moment, he couldn't remember why he was there. It was just a fuzzy spot in the back of his mind; when the memory did return to him, though, he tapped the side of his head with an eerie looking smile. "I told you earlier that I had questions for you, da? I am ready to ask them now."

Sort of. Russia wasn't exactly sure how he was supposed to go about asking how one 'forgot themselves'.

Instead, he focused his attention to the current issue at hand; namely the blood dried all over his face. The dark red substance was caked all over his upper lift and nose, smears of it on his chin and across both cheeks; clearly the product of being scrubbed at. "First though, do tell me why I found blood all through your nice home?"

With a huff, Canada drew himself off of the ground, brushing off the blue and white jersey he was sporting. He could still feel a small trickle of blood running down from one nostril but it was nowhere near as awful as it had been earlier; when the blood had been just oozing out of his nose and running down his throat, choking him and sending his stomach rolling from the taste. With every gasped breath, he could feel the precious liquid spattering out of his nose and all over his hand. But he hadn't made that big of a mess...Had he?


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I am so, so, so sorry everyone! Not only was there a major lack in updates, which I'm hoping to fix, but I'm so unhappy with this chapter. The girl that helped me come up with the plot, Xkoon, insisted that I at least attempt to put some humor into the story so...The bar scene later on is as close to we're going to get for a while. And it's not so much humor as I left an empty spot where humopr could have been. I hope that some of you are still reading this and will still keep an eye out for future updates. Don't worry, they will come! I will never abandon a story!

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><p>"Well, Mattvey?" Canada squirmed underneath of Russia's gaze, not really sure whether the smile was a good thing or not. It was always so hard to tell with the other Northern Nation. Sometimes the smile could mean such awful things...<p>

Wiping at his nose again, flakes of the dried blood rubbing off onto his hand when he did, Canada gave a shrug. "I'm fine, Russia. It was just a nose-bleed."

He'd had plenty worse than that before, including nose-bleeds of worse volumes; some where he lost so much blood he felt lightheaded and dizzy. Considering the events that brought it on him this time, events that those horrid newsreporters just slung around like it was nothing, he was actually pretty lucky.

The look on Russia's face was telling him that he should not feel so lucky.

"Nose-bleeds do not generally produce that much blood, Mattvey. Nor are they brought about by nothing." Russia stepped closer to the door as Canada moved over towards the sink and turned on the water. As the other Nation washed off his face, Russia was left watching in morbid fascination as the water ran red; dried clumps of blood standing out bright against the pure white sink.

Pulling his bottom lip into his mouth as he shut off the water, Canada glanced up into the mirror in front of him. He could still see the faintest tinge of red under both nostirls, though most of it had been washed off. And using the mirror, he could also make out the time; portrayed clearly on the front of his black cat clock.

_7:24_.

"O-oh no! I'm running late!" Canada exclaimed, pushing himself away from the sink as he did so. Of course he was late! He'd been sitting on that toilet for a good half an hour trying to get his nose to quit bleeding so he didn't know what he'd been expecting.

Roughly wiping his face off with the sleeve of his jersey, ignoring the sting it sent through his sore nose, Canada bolted foreward and squeezed through the door beside Russia. He could hear the other Nation teeter, spinning around and no doubt following him down the hall, but it wasn't until he actually made it to his front door that he stopped and looked at the other man.

The trip he was about to make was normally a solitary thing. It always held the hope that he hadn't been forgotten because his brother had accepted the invitation. Sometimes, America was even still there when Canada showed up, even if he didn't normally remember that the two had planned on meeting there. Still, leaving Russia was not just horrible manners, it was no doubt a horrible idea; he wanted his house intact when he got home, thank you very much.

"W-would you care to join me, Russia? I-I'm sorry that I c-can't stay but I've been p-planning this for a while." Three weeks, to be exact. Three weeks of planning and reminding and leaving sticky notes all over America's office so that the man didn't forget and now Canada himself was running late. And, oh, it just figured that this would happen now when he least wanted it too.

Russia blinked. "You are still going out? it would be smarter to sit in here and rest though, da?" That was just common sense, wasn't it? You didn't go running around after loosing so much blood, and clearly quite a bit had been lost. One could tell that by the massive stains spread across the living room walls.

Canada gave a small nod, one slightly shaking hand reaching out and grabbing a hold of the doorknob. "I have too. It's very important, R-russia. But, l-like I said, you're more than welcome to join me."

He didn't actually expect the pale-haired nation to agree. If anything, he was expecting Russia to snort and dissapear. Most likely for good this time. Instead, Russia grinned at him and nodded. "Then I will accompany you out, Mattvey, and when we get out you will answer my questions!"

And this time he would not forget about his Mattvey so quickly.

-0-0-0-0-

"I'm sorry that it's so crowded. I always forget that not everyone is used to having bars like this." Canada gave Russia an apologetic smile as they squeezed in between a group of jersey clad people.

In truth, the smaller of the two nations liked how crowded his bars became during hockey season. When he'd sit amongst them, sipping at a beer and cheering for whatever team was playing, it was like he wasn't completely alone anymore. The vibe that his people gave off when they were cheering on their team, it made him feel a little bigger. A little more seen, even when none of his people could recognize him for who he was; which was odd, almost unheard of, but something the Canuck chose not to dwell on.

Russia gave a grunt and a shrug as he followed Canada across the floor of the bar and over to the counter. It was far cleaner inside then the bars that Russia was used to frequenting, where everyone was a shadow and all the drinks were suspicious. The fact that it was more of a crowd didn't bother him.

The two made their way up to the counter where Mathew roughly shouldered his way onto a bar stool. The seat beside him was cleared almost immideatly as Russia joined him, one eyebrow raised down at Canada. Who was pointedly ignoring him for getting the attention of the bar-tender.

"Tom? Tom?" By the third call of the bar-tenders name, with not even a glance in their direction, Canada could feel a tinge of annoyance worm its way to the surface. He slapped his hand down on the counter, the motion stinging his hand. "Tom!"

With a start, the spindly man looked up from the cup he was cleaning. "Yes? What can I do for you?" Tom drawled.

A loud cheer shout up from the surrounding hockey-fans as a goal being made was shown on the dusty television in the corner of the bar. Canada leaned foreward, barely avoiding being decked by someone as they threw out their arms, so that Tom could hear him over the sudden ruckus. "I'm here to meet an Alfred F. Jones? He's, well, he looks like I do but a little taller. I'm running a little late though. He hasn't already left, has he?"

Tom blinked, large bug-like eyes looking Canada over. "Haven't seen no one that looks like you. No one named Alfred's been in here either. Sorry." With that, the elderly man turned his back on the duo.

Canada pulled his bottom lip into his mouth and bit down on it, teeth scraping against soft flesh. "Are you sure? H-he was supposed to be here an hour ago..."

"Listen, kid." Tom snapped, not even bothering to turn around this time. "I said no one looking like that's shown up here. Now hush, can't you see there's a game going on?"

A game? Yes, Canada knew that there was a game going on. That was why America was supposed to have been there. The World Power had promised Canada that they would meet up and watch it together. It really shouldn't have surprised him that the other man hadn't shown up. Really, when did he ever?

"Alright then..." Canada sighed, eyes drooping, and waved at Tom with one hand. "Set us up for the night then, please."

Russia didn't think he could be more surprised when a large plate of poutine and two beers were set down beside him, one snatched up by Canada and chugged down in moments. At least, not until a second beer was in his hands and he'd leapt from his seat to shout with the rest of the customers in the bar.

-0-0-0-

"So, Mattvey, do you go out like that often?" Russia questioned. He tilted his head to the side and smiled down at the Canadian.

Canada froze, halfway in his front door. A slight blush spread across his cheeks, the heat creeping up the back of his neck and leaving a crimson trail. "N-no...Not very often."

Not to say that Canada didn't enjoy it. the buzz and energy of his people was infectious and he always found himself getting lost in the moment and cheering alongside them. It made him feel alive. Loved. Like he was known in his country; like a nation was supposed to feel all the time. Canada always reveled in it. It was the only thing that made up for America not showing up, for his near-twin never showing up.

Canada preferred not to think about his twin not showing up. There was probably a good reason for him not showing up, something to do with the American Government or maybe he'd gotten sick. With all the hamburgers he shoved into his mouth, that could have been the case. It was easier for the True North to pretend that was the case.

And, even though it was the same for every nation, Canada was still thoroughly embarrassed he'd lost himself around Russia. How uncouth could he be? "I'm really sorry I got so carried away, Ivan, and that you ended up accompanying me there. Y-you, did y-you need something from me earlier? I know that I h-had us r-rush out rather qu-quickly." His words were a soft mumble, light violet eyes still locked onto his feet.

"Da, actually. I remembered we never finished our conversation at the meeting and planned to fix that. We should go inside now to talk, da?" Russia's smile faltered slightly when Canada's head snapped up, eyes wide and disbelieving. What else was he expecting him to have shown up for?

"It's getting late, actually. And I thought we'd finished talking about it?" It wasn't said, but Canada was sure that Russia could hear the rest of that sentence; you left earlier, I finished talking about it on my own.

"Nyet. I merely got side-tracked. We should finish talking now though." Russia once more nodded towards the door that Canada was still blocking.

No, no, no! Canada bit down on his bottom lip and shook his head. "I d-don't think we should." And it hurt so much to say that. To tell the first person, nation or otherwise, that had been to his house just to talk about something in years to go away. It made what was left of the Northern Nations heart ache.

But it was for the best.

It was easier to just not say anything now over, in a few weeks, wanting to talk and not having Russia be interested anymore. Or, more likely and even worse, having Russia not even remember that they had the conversation. So Canada held his ground in front of the door and shook his head again. "Maybe you should head home?"

"I came all this way to finish talking with you, Mattvey. I would enjoy not leaving until I understand what you said earlier. It has been bothering me." At least, it had bothered Russia once he remembered it. And he really did feel bad for not coming to speak with Canada about it sooner. The smaller nation was just so easy to forget...

Later, Canada would get mad at himself for loosing his temper so easily. He would ask himself whether it was worth it, keeping it private and protecting himself from what would happen later instead of taking a few minutes of comfort and talking with someone. Whether he was just imagining the familiar red-tinge that had invaded his vision or was it really happening again? So soon?

But at the moment, he was content to loose himself and follow his instincts. Those, at least, had yet to betray him. "Why do you care?" The Canadian snapped, voice not raising but growing frosty all the same.

Russia blinked in surprise, brow furrowing slightly as the smile slid from his face. "Why wouldn't I? You seemed very lost earlier, Mattvey. I just wanted to know why."

"Why wouldn't you? No, no, the question is why would you? Why did you even notice me? Why did you remember who I was? I didn't even remember who I was!" The red-haze suddenly dropped away, and with it the warmth in the air around them. Canada could feel his heart start to pound in his chest, the blood throbbing in his ears, and he took a half-step back towards the still open door.

The world behind Ivan seemed to darken, the shadows growing and reaching and calling, and it took Canada shaking his head, hard, to make them go back to where they were supposed to be. Russia opened his mouth to say something else, to ask another question and bring up memories that shouldn't be messed with, that he wouldn't eve remember come morning, but Canada was already slipping into his house.

Away from the Russian.

Away from the shadows.

Away from the doubt, the hate_hatehatehate_, and to the only place that still held any comfort for him. Where at least Kumajirou would speak with him.

The door closed with a bang much louder than it should have.


End file.
